


two souls, the sand, the sky

by booksnchocolate



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 08:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14540631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booksnchocolate/pseuds/booksnchocolate
Summary: He hadn’t meant to start slowing down. He’d kept pace as best he could at first - long legs were good for something, even if one of them was twisted. But as the days passed and the heat beat down on them, unwavering, Newt began to falter.





	two souls, the sand, the sky

 

He hadn’t meant to start slowing down. He’d kept pace as best he could at first - long legs were good for something, even if one of them was twisted. But as the days passed and the heat beat down on them, unwavering, Newt began to falter.

It started small: lagging a few paces behind the group as they walked; being the first to sit down at rest stops and the last to get up; arriving at the nightly campfires a few minutes later than everyone else; then a few minutes more. No one commented, however, and between the dehydration, blisters and constant shooting pain, Newt was too exhausted to recognize a problem. One foot in front of the other. That was all that mattered.

It was only when he limped into camp half an hour late, left leg one long line of agony from ankle to hip, that he realized something was wrong. 

“What is it?” he tried to ask, “Why is everyone staring at me?” But the sand shifted underfoot and he stumbled, landing on his twisted leg with a cry of pain.

“Newt!” Thomas was at his side in an instant, throwing an arm around his waist and taking his weight. Tears sprang to Newt’s eyes and he pressed his face into Thomas’ shoulder so the others wouldn’t see. 

“Fuck,” he breathed out shakily, muffled into Thomas’ shirt. He felt movement and vaguely recognized that Thomas was leading them over to a corner of the camp, Newt’s leg a dead weight between them. 

Thomas was talking but his voice seemed to come from far away. “C’mon, Newt, work with me here.”

“‘M trying,” Newt mumbled, letting out a long groan as Thomas lowered him to sit on the ground. 

“Fuck. Newt, you okay?” Worry coloured Thomas’ voice and darkened his eyes, and Newt felt a pang of sadness that he’d been the one to put that pinched look on his friend’s face.

“I’m fine,” he said, weakly, knowing Thomas wouldn’t believe him and secretly glad for it. It hurt so much, sometimes, to pretend. 

“Bullshit,” Thomas said, eyes trained on Newt’s face. “Fry! We need water!” 

Footsteps were already approaching. “You got it,” Frypan said, handing Thomas a water bottle and a pack of rations. He cast a worried glance at Newt but said nothing as he turned back to the fire. 

“Here.” Thomas tore open the food packaging and shoved the rations into Newt’s hand. “Eat this.”

Too tired to protest, Newt bit into the flavorless food. It was like chewing on carpet but it had the desired effect. After a few bites, he began to feel more human. 

No sooner had he finished the food than a water bottle was held to his lips. “Drink,” said Thomas in a tone that brooked no argument. 

Newt did, relishing the liquid in his parched throat. At last, he pushed the half-empty bottle away, shaking his head. “I’m good. Thanks, Tommy.”

Thomas rocked back on his heels, one hand still on Newt’s shoulder as if he expected him to bolt at any moment. Newt wanted to tell him that was a colossal joke - his injured leg was a solid block of pain. As if sensing his discomfort, Thomas looked down. “Does it hurt?”

Newt didn’t see the point in lying. “Like Hell.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”  _Why didn’t you tell me?_

_“_ I-” Newt was at a loss. “It didn’t seem that important,” he said, finally, hating the hurt look in Thomas’ eyes and hating himself for putting it there.

“Newt, you fucking idiot,” Thomas hissed, shifting his hand to cup the back of Newt’s neck. His thumb was a beacon of warmth resting just under Newt’s jaw. “Of course it’s important.  _You’re_  important.” 

Newt opened his mouth but no words came out. Suddenly, it was all too much - the exhaustion, the shooting pain in his leg, the way Thomas was looking at him, one hand on his neck both too much and not enough. Newt looked away, blinking rapidly. 

“Fuck’s sake.” And then Thomas was shifting to sit beside him, bracing his leg against Newt’s bad one and pulling Newt tight against him. He wrapped both arms around Newt’s shoulders and Newt couldn’t help it - he surrendered, flinging his arms around Thomas’ waist and melting into the embrace. 

“I’ve got you,” Thomas said softly. His leg pressed against Newt’s, solid and real. “I’ve got you.”

And for a moment, Newt let himself believe it.

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! If you liked this, come find me at 


End file.
